The Boy Who Lived is Dead
by amadeus
Summary: Harry Potter is dead. No one expected it. Not even Voldemort. Not even his killer (who was not Voldemort). This story is about everyone's reactiond to his death. Voldemort's reaction, especially.
1. Default Chapter

"The Boy Who Lived is Dead: Harry Potter Beat to Death by Muggle Uncle"

Author's Note: This is not a multi-chaptered story. It is not my take on what will happen in the fifth book. It is merely what I see as the reactions to the unexpected death of Harry Potter in a way that no one would ever expect. I expect (I love that word…expect (but not really)) that I might write 3 chapters at the most, the most important and interesting of which will be Voldemort's reaction to Harry's death. I can guarantee you'll want to read about that, as I am extremely excited about writing it, and even more excited about the reviews I'm gonna get from you people when I do. To all my previous fans: No I didn't abandon "14". I was banned from the computer for two weeks and am currently writing the next chapter. You're gonna love that too. Without further ado..enjoy…and please review.

Disclaimer: Why, oh Why was I not the one to come up with Harry Potter? Because JK Rowling is an absolute genius, and beat me to it, that's why.

The Boy Who Lived is Dead

"The Boy Who Lived is Dead: Harry Potter Beaten to Death by Muggle Uncle". Thus did the front page of the Daily Prophet shock the wizarding world on the morning of the first of August, 1996. The entire paper was devoted to the story, though few got through the heading of the paper before spewing coffee or tea all over it, ruining the paper, making it quite difficult to read. It was impossible . It couldn't be true. No one could harm the Boy Who Lived, not even the Dark Lord himself, but there, sitting right in front of every paper-reader in the wizarding world, was the story of how that boy, the young and noble Harry Potter, had perished not by wand, a deadly curse, but by the muggle brute force of his own relative.

The rumors swept quickly over all the world from the front page to the deepest and darkest nooks and crannies. Owls ruled the sky, gossip ruled the air, and confusion ruled the streets of the wizarding communities throughout the world. But shock reigned supreme.

In the Weasley household, the Burrow, Arthur Weasley woke up with a start as he was bombarded by owls. The first one he read demanded his immediate presence at the ministry for an absolute emergency. He woke up his wife, Molly Weasley, in his rush of putting on clothes and getting ready to leave and gave her the quick explanation of "Ministry emergency" before disapparating from the house. The other owls left to follow him.

Molly Weasley, awoken beyond the point of returning to sleep, dressed and began to prepare breakfast calling loudly in the voice only multi-child mothers can use for her daughter and three sons (Percy had moved out) to wake up and come down to breakfast, as she had done every morning thus far this summer. She hummed happily to herself as the sausages and bacon sizzled in their respective pans. Her four youngest children entered the kitchen laughing as Fred and George were playing keep-away from Ron and Ginny with what looked like one of the twins new inventions (she had resigned to herself that the "troublesome twins" were going to follow through with their joke shop no matter what she said). She smiled. She loved watching her family laugh. It was so…contagious.

As they approached, however, a sudden pop made her turn around to see her husband, returned from whatever the "emergency at the ministry" had been. She was just about to give him a welcome back kiss when she saw that his face was extremely pale, and he held a newspaper. Slowly, he turned it to face her, allowing her a full view of the headlines. She gasped, and her face quickly matched the white color of his own, losing all traces of color in her usually rosy cheeks. She held the newspaper now, not knowing she had taken it from him.

The twins, still laughing and noticing their parents focus on the paper, but not the color of their faces, nimbly swiped the Daily Prophet from their mother, who was about to drop it in shock anyway. The two stopped laughing abruptly. Ron and Ginny, finally able to take something from their brothers, swiftly stole the newspaper…and also stopped laughing.

Ginny fainted. Molly Weasley was in tears. Ron was opening and closing his mouth, wordlessly. Arthur Weasley had his eyes on the floor, trying to comfort his wife with an embrace, as he himself could not seemed to bring a single word from his throat. The twins were thinking wordlessly of how The Prophet HAD to be wrong, and yet knowing…that a close friend, and their major contributor, was dead.

*********

Hermione Granger woke up to what she expected to be a normal day, listening to the usual sounds of her parents making a normal breakfast downstairs. She promptly got dressed in her normal muggle clothing, and continued her typical morning routine as she went downstairs happily greeting her quite normal muggle parents. They were having pancakes (no syrup of course, it was bad for her teeth). Mid-breakfast, however, an owl flew in the kitchen window, carrying the usual Daily Prophet and, as usual, startling her parents, who had yet to grow accustomed to the sight of owls in their home.

She paid the owl the normal amount and, after the owl had left, continued with her normal breakfast. She took a swig of her normal glass of milk as she unfolded the paper and proceeded to spew it all over the paper as she read the Daily Prophet headline, which was most certainly NOT normal.

As her eyes quickly darted back and forth across the page, her dentist parents watched her face rotate quickly between several very UNusual colors. She proceeded to turn white, then red, then purple, then a sickly green, then an even more sickly pale white before collapsing on the floor. Her parents, unsure whether or not to perform the Heimlich maneuver, looked at the paper, and then quickly dropped to their daughter's side in attempts to comfort her.

*********

Vernon Dursley sat in a muggle jail cell, still unsure of what had happened. He thought back to the previous night. There was nothing unusual about it really. The boy (Harry, the name sounded ugly and common even in his mind) had burnt the Dursley's dinner. Was it so much to ask for him to look after a pot on a stove after all the Dursleys had done for him? Honestly, the boy was a complete idiot. Vernon just didn't understand how he had passing grades at that so called "school" he went to.

The boy, Harry (Even in his mind, he spat the name) had been daydreaming, Vernon had only been trying to wake him up. Vernon had always maintained that a good beating would have cured the boy of his problems, but beatings were looked down upon…and Vernon Dursley would be looked down upon by nobody. Vernon had given him a simple punch in the face. He hadn't even meant to punch the boy very hard. The boy was SUPPOSED to duck! He always ducked. And now the boy was dead.

He still didn't know how a single punch to the face could kill someone, although he had heard talking when he had been…arrested.

"Hit his nose straight up into his brain," a policeman had said, "Must have died instantly…Most likely painless." But Vernon hadn't meant to, he was only trying to wake the boy up. His reputataion, Oh God, what would they say about Vernon Dursley now?…

*********

"What!!!" screamed Fudge, "What do you mean he's DEAD?" It was just after midnight on the first of August. "Harry Potter cannot DIE!" A picture was placed in front of him. It was a muggle picture. A picture taken by the police. There lay Harry Potter, on the floor of a kitchen, glasses broken just to the side of his head, eyes open in shock, blood flowing into a puddle on the floor from his severely misshaped nose. The minister of magic had only just accepted that Voldemort _might_ have returned, and now the one of the only two people who could possibly defeat him, and the only one EVER, to defeat him before, was now dead, killed by a muggle of all things.

What would happen when people picked up the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning? Terror? Chaos? _Riots_? And, most importantly, how could he blame this on someone _else_?…

*********

Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the man who everyone went to when no one knew what to do, was in shock. The safest place in the world for Harry was at his relations' house, he had made sure of it. No evil wizard could ever touch him there, not even the Dark Lord himself. But he had been a fool. How could he have been such a fool?

What would he do now, now that everyone would turn to him for help, as they always did? Or…would they turn _on_ him? Everyone, the Weasleys, Sirius, Arabella Figg (who lived just down the street from Harry and was another of his protections around Privet Drive) and Harry himself had pleaded with him to let Harry stay somewhere else. But no. He had to be a fool. No dark wizard could ever touch Harry, but how, HOW could he have overlooked the muggles he lived with. What would happen to the Order of the Phoenix now, and how would they ever be able to combat Voldemort without Harry? The Boy Who Lived is Dead, he thought, what on earth do we do now?…

**********

Voldemort sat on his thrown, looking doubtfully and distastefully at the man who cowered before him. "Would you care to repeat that?" He asked.

Lucious Malfoy repeated his words, still kneeling before his master. "The Potter boy is dead, My Lord, his Uncle killed him. It was, apparently, an accident."

"That is impossible," Voldemort said, "Harry Potter can not be killed by a muggle. _I _have failed to kill him _four_ times now. He is a powerful wizard, though only fifteen, as is expected of the Heir of Gryffindor. His escapes from me were not _entirely_ luck. The Heir of Gryffindor cannot be killed by a muggle. I am disappointed in you, Lucious, do not bother me with such tales." A picture was handed to him, the same that had been handed to the minister of magic only an hour before, by the same man.

"It is not possible," the Dark Lord said, but this time he doubted himself. Muggle pictures, much as he hated to admit, were very plain, obvious, and _truthful_. "Killed by a uggle…unbelievable." He was most definitely not laughing.

The Dark Lord, obsessed with winning in everything, and ruling everything, was also obsessed with honor. That, in fact, was the reason he was obsessed with winning everything and ruling everything. He wanted to be seen on high by all. This victory, the one he had been trying to achieve for nearly fifteen years, was most assuredly NOT honorable.

Imagine…a muggle, doing, by accident, what he could not do in years of trying. This would not do…

****************

Author's Note: Wow, the Daily Prophet exaggerated as usual. In Daily Prophet math, Oops, I didn't mean to equals beat to death. Remember I said you would really like reading Voldemort's reaction. I am nowhere near done with him yet. (grins evilly) There is definitely, definitely, more to come.


	2. Part 2

Author's Note: Wow! Fifty reviews in 24 hours is quite a lot. I'm sorry to fans of "14" but I had to finish this first, with that kind of response. I'm afraid Voldemort's reaction isn't all that I cracked it up to be, though I still happen to like it, and I know it's a little out of character, so please don't flame me about that. Instead, it is Sirius who has the beat all, end all reaction. I truly enjoyed writing that, and I believe you will enjoy reading it. I must say I am very proud of myself for this fic and am looking forward to reading your reviews (should you decide that this fic deserves them). Enjoy. Please Review.

Disclaimer: Damn that Rowling woman! How dare she own all this when I have worked so hard on it! May she die a painful and horrible death! (But not really and definitely not until she has finished the Harry Potter books)

The Boy Who Lived is Dead (part 2)

The funeral was arranged quickly, and was very small for such an important celebrity. Only close friends (no family) were allowed to attend. Even Cornelius Fudge, with all of his clout, was kept out, despite all of his arguments. The press was allowed only one agent, Rita Skeeter, who could be controlled.

The first row was occupied by the speakers, those closest to Harry who knew him best. Albus Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, Minerva McGonall, Hagrid, and Sirius Black, whose innocence had been made known to all attendees. In the second row sat the rest of the Gryffindor fifth years. The third row was occupied by the Weasleys, all close friends with Harry. The fourth by Harry's teachers. The rest of the audience was made up of students (fellow Gryffindors plus a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs), other Hogwarts faculty, ghosts (Peeves was actually quiet) and anyone else who had befriended Harry over the years. In all there were less than one hundred in attendence.

The speeches were all long and sad. Not even Rita Skeeter could avoid crying. Everyone who spoke talked of Harry's bravery, kindness and all of his accomplishments. Everything that happened to him, from first year in Hogwarts to his last, was mentioned. Even the unlawful things he and his friends had done (Rita Skeeter would omit these from her reports) came out, bringing forth many gasps and then more tears from the audience. The speakers themselves were barely able to talk through their constrained throats and flowing tears.

Dumbledore talked mostly of Harry's bravery and his achievements. He seemed very old and tired during the speech. McGonall did the same, but mentioned more scholastic achievements than not. Hagrid bellowed his speech through a hoarse voice and loud sobs. Half of his speech was lost and forgotten beyond recovery after being smudged by his huge tears. Hermione's speech was very long, and extremely heartfelt. It was by far the longest and most thought out speech of the six, but no less tear-jerking than the rest. Ron's was from the point of view of a best friend. It was short and less eloquent than the rest (except Hagrid's), but was no less sad. He stumbled on several of the words, his voice cracking as he was clearly in agony, but he relentlessly finished, sitting down and letting the crying Hermione to put her head on his shoulder.

Of all these Sirius was by far the saddest and brought forth the most tears. It was not from the point of view of a mentor, a friend, or even a godfather, but from the view of a father. He talked of Harry as if he were his own son, stumbling worse than Ron had. When he was finished with the speech, no one knew it. He continued to stand, not leaving the podium from which he spoke. No one moved for a while. Sobs were the only noise. Sirius continued standing, tears falling from his eyes, as he looked down on the closed coffin of his godson. Several pictures stood on the coffin, all of Harry laughing or playing quidditch doing some other wonderful thing, always his bright green eyes laughing, always his mouth in a smile. The Boy Who Lived, his godson, Harry Potter, was dead.

"Oh James, I'm so sorry. I've failed you again. Oh, god, what have I done?" No one heard him.

*********

The site of the grave was Godric's Hollow. Harry Potter was now buried next to his mother and father. The group stood around the grave. The funeral was over, but no one left. They all just stood there, some weeping, some trying to comfort those who were weeping, and yet shedding tears themselves. All who could see looked at the gravestone of The Boy Who Lived. It read:

Harry Potter

The Boy Who Lived

July 31, 1981-July 31, 1996

Son of James and Lily Potter

A wonderful person

A good heart

A kind soul

A true friend

Blessed be those who walked this land with him.

Screams broke out in the back of the crowd as small pops became often enough to sound like muggle popcorn. Jets of light swept through the mourners swiftly, knocking down any who were in their path. Within a few seconds most of the crowd was stunned by the Stupify curse. What was left of them fought hard but were quickly overwhelmed by Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. The last to go down was Albus Dumbledore, defeated soundly in a rather short duel with the Dark Lord.

Voldemort strode up to the grave of Harry Potter, his followers stayed back to make sure everyone was stunned as he had commanded. He read the gravestone…and sighed. He pointed his wand at it, and muttered a few words no one heard. A green light streaked out of the wand and hit the gravestone. A small pop signalled his departure. A succession of them signalled his followers'.

When the crowd finally awoke, and had discovered no one dead and nothing missing, they finally saw the gravestone. Added to Harry Potter's traits, under "Son of James and Lily Potter" was this line:

A worthy opponent

Vernon Dursley was discovered dead later that day in his muggle jail cell. Above him hovered the Dark Mark, but on the forehead of the skull of the mark, was a small lightning bolt. It was the only time in all of Voldemort's reign that the Dark Mark was different. After this he returned to being his evil…and honorable self, once again bent on ruling the world…

*********

One Year Later:

Sirius Black was mad, absolutely insane. His insanity and Lord Voldemort's power had both grown quickly after Harry Potter's death, and Britain cowered in fear once more, beyond hope without their savior. The Dark Lord's name still brought forth winces from anyone who heard it, and the name of the of the Boy Who Lived brought forth tears. Tears of agony, defeat, and loss of hope.

But Sirius Black did not cry. Half the time he didn't even really remember his own name. He most certainly did not remember that he was a wizard. He walked among muggles who gave him queer looks but did not investigate. In normal times he would have been put into an insane asylum, but the muggle asylums were all overpacked as it was. An alarming number of people seemed to have gone "loony" in the past year, and the only explanations the wardens had for this was a new disease unknown to mankind.

But they had not attacked by a "new disease". They had been attacked by death eaters, tortured to the point of insanity, who were now very close to the point of walking the streets in daylight without fear of encounter. That was how bad it was in both the muggle and the wizarding world.

But Sirius Black knew none of this. He walked the streets alone, coming from nowhere and heading to nowhere. He was occasionally fed by a compassionate and merciful passerby, and other times simply took food without paying. He was not opposed when he did this, however. Either the owners of the food were kind out of pity, used to it (it happened quite a lot these days as Britain was falling apart), or were afraid of catching whatever "disease" he had gotten.

Whatever wizards or witches saw him ran away in fear, not daring to try to face the right hand of Voldemort himself. Whenever someone ran away from him, he laughed. He didn't know why. But he found it amusing, in the back of his mind, that people ran away from him. He never saw anyone he knew, or maybe he did. It wouldn't matter.

One day he was going through his usual routine, walking the muggle streets of London, when the sound of screams entered his ears. He didn't really notice all that much. He was used to it. People heard screams quite a lot, these days. These days, every person knew, or every SANE person knew, that if you heard screaming, you ran in the other direction and hoped that whatever was making someone scream didn't come after you.

But as I have said many times thus far, Sirius Black was not sane. He was quite deranged. Thus as he saw screaming people running by him in the opposite direction, he just continued walking obliviously in the direction he was going. In fact, he was humming a song and smiling. He continued to smile but stopped humming, when a circle of Death Eaters suddenly appeared around him, Voldemort himself inside the circle.

"Hello," he said brightly, not wanting to be rude.

"Hello, Black" said Voldemort in a cruel, cold voice. Sirius didn't like the voice, but was more interested in what this stranger had called him. "Black" he had said. He guessed that that was his name. His hair was black. His clothes were dark with dirt with lack of cleaning, but they weren't really black. His shoes were black, but they might have been a different color once, he couldn't really tell. And he distinctly remembered (or as distinctly as an insane person can) being called "Sirius Black" by people who ran away from him. But this brought back the memory of the people who ran away from him. And, as you recall, he found them to be quite funny, so he started laughing again, nearly forgetting his company.

Well, as you can imagine, the Dark Lord was not happy to be laughed at, and raged at the insane man in front of him. "How dare you laugh at me! How dare you laugh at Lord Voldemort!"

But somewhere, in the back of Sirius Black's mind something clicked. He laughed harder. "Voldemort?" He gasped between fits of laughter, "Voldemort? Vol de mort? Flight from death?" And this made him laugh even harder, barely able to breathe in the occasional gasp of air.

"Wormatail, Pettigrew, come here, deal with him."

Black stopped laughing for a moment. "Pettigrew? Peter Pettigrew? Peter, Pet he grew?" And then he began laughing again, absolutely hysterically, barely registering somewhere in the back of his mind that Wormtail was actually an animagus rat who had grown to become a pet of the Weasley family, and that he would "peter" (fearfully back out of) out of anything remotely dangerous. He also vaguely remembered himself as a black dog, and that Sirius was the brightest star in the sky, and also called the "Dog star" and that thus the name, Sirius Black, translated to black dog. This made him laugh even harder.

"Crucio!" The chubby bald man shouted, a bit scared of his old friend, and a bit intimidated by being made fun of. The curse had no affect on Sirius, who continued laughing all the harder.

Voldemort raged even more. "Malfoy!" he shouted, pushing the sniveling Wormtail out of his way. "Make him pay!"

"Mal foi?" Sirius was going nuts (even though he already was nuts). "Mal foi", as french scholars know, means "bad faith". Sirius knew a bit of french. Enough to know what vol de mort and mal foi meant, anyway. And thus he continued laughing hysterically. (I would say harder, but he simply couldn't laugh any harder.) The Cruciatus curse, this time performed by a very irritated Lucius Malfoy, once again had no affect on him.

"Avada Kedavra!" shouted Voldemort, hysterical with rage. But in that moment Sirius burst into song. It had a beautiful and joyful melody; it was the tune he had been humming to himself earlier. He did not know where the words or the tune came from, but happily sang them.

"The day was near

But now has come

The dark side is lost

The light side is won!

Happiness and joy

Will rule once again

As love fills the hearts

Of women and men!

The Dark Lord is dead!

His henchmen defeated!

A laugh and this song

Were all that was needed!

And back I will go,

Back to my friends!

Whom I will be so glad

To see once again!

Many things happened at once during this song. The Killing Curse, a green streak of light aimed straight at Sirius Black's heart bounced off harmlessly, instead hitting Lucius Malfoy, killing him instantly.

Voldemort tried again, but found that his magic was somehow disabled by the song. All of his magic. And his heart stopped, and then…he ceased to be. His Dark Magic, in all of its massive amounts, was all that was keeping him in the world. He biologically died long ago. This was his last thought before he died…permanently.

Peter Pettigrew died as well. But he died very slowly and painfully. As previously mentioned, all of the Dark Lord's magic was somehow disabled by the song. Wormtail's silver hand was His magic. Thus it ceased to be as well. Blood came gushing quickly and painfully out of Wormtail's now open wound on his arm…half arm, I should say. He died bleeding to death. No one helped him, and he was quite useless under pressure.

The Death Eaters dispersed, running from the site of their lord's death, screaming in pain as the dark mark on their arms burned deep black for the last time and then vanished. They would never convene again.

Sirius Black, after he finished the song, took one look around him, and collapsed to the ground…and died. He had had almost no air for almost fifteen minutes. But as he fell he remembered long ago and far away an old wise man saying "Ah music, a magic beyond all we do here…"

He had one more thought before he died. It was both conscious and sane. "Harry, James, I'm comin' home."

The End

Author's Note: Thank you all very much for your reviews. I hope you liked it.


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